


It's Going Down

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Blow Jobs, Dancing, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, naughty things happening in public, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets a really awesome birthday present when he turns 18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Going Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was written while listening to Timber by Pitbull on repeat, because for some reason bullshit misogynistic pop songs tickle my porn muses, ugh. I will give them kudos for giving it a very sexy beat, which is what fueled this fic.
> 
> Dedicated to my Wayward Shipper bros, because you all rock! <3
> 
> Betated super fast by the amazing [Mithrel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel) ! Love you!

It's two days after Stiles' eighteenth birthday, and they're at Jungle. The actual day fell on a school night, so there'd been cake and celebration at the Stilinski house, which had been nice, but this? This is the birthday Stiles has been looking forward to.

 

Stiles dances. He's not great at it, but it doesn't matter, being a good dancer is not the point. The point is to get his pulse throbbing, his breath short and his muscles burning. Sweat drips down the back of his neck, turning his already tight shirt damp and clingy. He's getting plenty of attention. Turns out the lovely drag queens weren't lying when they assured Stiles that his twink look would land him all the guys he could ever want. One skin-tight shirt and some suggestive hip movements is all it takes before one interested guy after another sidles up to Stiles. He smiles at them all, licks his lips and lets them slide their hands all over him. He gently redirects when the attention goes below the belt, and so far they've all been good about it, most choosing to move on with no hard feelings when he makes it clear that's not what he's here for.

 

A few stay around, circling back to him every so often to clutch his waist and guide his hips, some boldly pressing kisses to his neck, and Stiles lets them. Because he's eighteen now and it's completely legal, and he's finally found a place where his appearance is something desirable. After so many years of rejection and insecurity he's hungry for it, and here his hunger will be sated.

 

Derek doesn't dance. Ever. Stiles knows this. Not because of lack of skill, but because he doesn't like laying himself open like that. Stiles has seen him shake it with the pack, at home in his own territory with only people he knows. It's one hell of a sight to see. It's unfair, Stiles decides, that Derek gets to be that hot _and_ have good rhythm. But no one is seeing that tonight as he watches Stiles from a corner, letting the shadows cover him like a cloak. Stiles knows he's there, of course. Knew from the moment he arrived. It's become a thing, slowly, as they got closer. There'll be a slight tug in his chest whenever Derek is close, and while it isn't unwelcome as such, Stiles generally tries not to think about what it might mean. For now he uses it to shamelessly get one over on the biggest creeper-wolf he knows, and he winks at Derek where he thinks himself hidden.

 

The next guy who dances closer slides their legs together, grinding slowly against Stiles' thigh to the heavy beat of club music, and while Stiles has no intention of letting it go anywhere, he's a little slower to brush it off. Because the guy is obviously hard, and Stiles is a little overwhelmed. And excited.

 

But the guy suddenly freezes and slowly backs away, and Stiles grins giddily, knowing exactly what scared the guy's balls back into his body. He turns around, and yes, there's Derek, literally at his shoulder, scowl deep and firmly in place. There's no point in trying to talk, because the music is loud and overpowering. Derek could probably hear him, but generally Derek will keep his senses low in clubs, hoping to spare himself a headache from the barrage of noise, so Stiles doesn't bother. Instead he boldly slips his arms around Derek's neck and dances against his unmoving form, knowing it probably won't get him anywhere, but feeling like anything is allowed. It's his birthday, he's eighteen and his life is just beginning.

 

Derek doesn't dance, but he doesn't move away either. He stands there like a statue and lets Stiles dance around him, the scowl slowly fading as Stiles slides his hands around Derek's waist, up his back, down his arms and brushing his hips.

 

They're... something. Stiles hasn't been able or even all that eager to label what it is they're doing. But when he eases in for a kiss, he's got fairly good reason to assume he'll be allowed. Derek doesn't move at first, but then he kisses back, softly, a complete contrast to the heavy thump of bass and the sea of writhing bodies around them. But that's Derek, never one to follow the masses, and Stiles loves that about him.

 

The beat hammers through Stiles' whole body, and he can't help but sway to it even as Derek's arms come around him and pull him close, staking his claim for the whole club to see. Which is also new. Whatever they are to each other, up until now it hasn't actually included all that much PDA, if any. The pack knows, of course, that something is going on there, but in an incredible show of generosity and discretion have apparently decided not to poke their wolfy noses into it. Stiles is so fucking grateful for that.

 

When Stiles finally pulls back, separating their lips, Derek gives him a long searching look, and Stiles feels his heart pound in his chest as he's turned slowly inside the circle of Derek's arms. A gentle tug brings him in closer, molding their bodies around each other, and Stiles lets the music move him against Derek. There's a huff of breath against Stiles' neck before Derek latches onto it, clearly intent on marking him thoroughly and obviously, and Stiles has no objection, throwing his head back and moaning through it. The sound is swallowed by the din, but Derek should feel it where his palms are pressed to Stiles' chest and stomach, not keeping him still, but secure. The hands slide lower, settling on Stiles' moving hips, following the sways until there's a particularly firm beat, and then Stiles is yanked in, ass pulled harshly against Derek's groin where he's hot and hard, and Stiles whimpers as he grinds against Derek.

 

There's a moment of stunned disbelief when Derek grinds back, not dancing exactly, but definitely following the beat, basically humping against Stiles right there on the dance floor. It's filthy as hell, Stiles is blatantly hard, and anyone who cares to look – and it seems there are plenty who do – will definitely know what's going on. Stiles has never felt more awesome and desirable in his life, especially since just as many people send envious looks towards Derek as Stiles. People – _hot_ people – actually resent Derek for having his hands on Stiles. It's a heady feeling.

 

Stiles isn't dancing anymore, but his body is moving, undulating and sinuously thrusting into thin air as Derek shoves the hard line of his cock up against Stiles' ass again and again, leaving finger-shaped bruises on his hips holding him so tight. Hickey after hickey appears on Stiles' neck as Derek works his way down toward his shoulders, and Stiles clings to Derek's wrists, needing something to steady him under the assault of lust. His mouth falls open, breaths shallow and desperate as Derek's right hand inches forward, slipping torturously slowly downwards until he can slide his palm over the straining bulge in Stiles' pants.

 

The sound Stiles makes feels like a sob in his throat, and he's going crazy, torn between pressing forward into Derek's hand or back onto his cock. Both feel dirty and amazing and Stiles wants all of it. Derek's chest rumbles against Stiles' back, only the fabric of two thin shirts between them as Derek growls, and there are suddenly pinpricks of fangs digging into Stiles' shoulder. He should probably be freaking out, but if his relentless adoration of Lydia Martin and his recent life choices are any indication, Stiles probably has a danger kink. And whatever else is going through his head as Derek's hand gropes and his teeth tease with breaking skin, there's not a hint of doubt that Derek would never hurt him. After everything they've been through, the trust between them was most likely inevitable.

 

Breath stutters in Stiles' throat, and Derek's hand squeezes tight, large enough to envelop all of him, and Stiles forgets about the music and the club and everything else, the need to come rushing over him sudden and sharp. Derek snarls into his ear, grinds up against him so hard it has to hurt, his cock trapped in his constricting jeans, and Stiles doesn't know what to do or where to put his hands. He just wants to come, and he doesn't care who sees. He'll probably care afterwards, but right now there is nothing in the world but the filthy push against his ass and the greedy clench of Derek's hand around his cock.

 

“Please,” he whimpers, and while it's inaudible over the music, Derek definitely gets it. He hauls Stiles bodily off the dance-floor, doesn't wait for him to find his feet, simply dragging him towards the exit, and Stiles is so beyond caring about his dignity right now that he just lets him.

 

The cool air outside should probably have dampened his lust, but instead it feels like his skin is alive with goosebumps, and he shivers as Derek drags him to the Jeep parked nearby. Stiles has about two seconds where he begins to wonder about the logistics of them getting off in the Jeep, but then Derek drags him to the side of the Jeep facing away from the club and the bouncers and simply sinks to his knees right there in the parking lot. Stiles makes a pathetic sound, but he doesn't care, because Derek's hands are _shaking_ as they fumble with Stiles' button and zipper, and there's barely a moment of cool air on his cock before it's swallowed down by Derek's hot mouth.

 

Stiles has to slap a hand over his face to avoid yelling and possibly attracting the attention of people who would call the cops – Stiles' father, oh God – but there's no stopping the groan as Derek just takes him in, going deep, deep, _deep_. Stiles has to give up covering his mouth, because if he doesn't hold onto the Jeep with both hands, he's gonna fall on his ass.

 

“Derek, shit, you-” he stutters. “I can't, I'm gonna, _wow_ , shit, fuck!”

 

There's a sound like a half-choked huff as Derek pulls back enough to breathe, and that should not be hot, Derek laughing at him, but for some reason that's what slings Stiles over the edge, and he's making pained noises as Derek sucks the come right out of him, swallowing it all down. Stiles is still wheezing for breath as Derek lets go, the chilly night air combined with Derek's saliva making Stiles' dick go soft in record time, and he looks down to see Derek still on his knees scrabbling to undo his own pants.

 

“Want me to-” Stiles rasps, but Derek snarls and finally manages to rip open his pants enough to get his hands on himself, and just starts jerking himself off right there. “Guess not,” Stiles concludes weakly, and watches wide-eyed as Derek strips his cock almost brutally, his eyes fixed on Stiles' face. Stiles licks a drop of sweat off his upper lip, and Derek whimpers, his hand moving faster. Sudden inspiration makes Stiles reach out and touch his fingers to Derek's lips, and there's a weak stab of arousal in his groin as Derek sucks them in hungrily and comes all over his hand and the asphalt below him in two seconds flat.

 

Stiles' fingers are cold as they slide from Derek's slack mouth, breeze cooling the spit coating his skin, and it reminds him that he's still standing there with his dick hanging out of his pants. He puts himself together again with fumbling hands, distracted by the sight of Derek still on his knees, angry-red cock softening against his thigh, leaving trails of come on his dark jeans. Derek is panting hard, and looks like he's gonna need a minute before he's able to get up, and Stiles feels smug for a moment. He did that to Derek Hale.

 

They've done things before that ended in mutual orgasm, but mostly by accident, and Derek always looked so fucking guilty afterwards. But this time the look on his face is all bliss as he raises his head and fucking _smiles_. Stiles is a little awed, frankly.

 

“That right there is my best birthday present so far,” he says, sending Derek a lewd smirk that makes him huff out another small laugh. Stiles is getting addicted to that. Must be some kind of superpower, making Derek laugh, and Stiles is gonna abuse his power shamelessly.

 

Derek tucks himself in, but doesn't seem to care about the jizz on his pants. He wipes his hand on the denim as he gets up, but doesn't even do a very good job of it, and Stiles is pretty sure he gets come in his hair as Derek threads his fingers into it to drag him in for a slow kiss. The pack is gonna shit bricks when Derek gets home drenched in come, and Stiles can't help but smile at the thought. He did that. Aw yeah.

 

“So far?” Derek murmurs, nipping at Stiles' lower lip. “You're expecting something better?”

 

“Well, I dunno. What are the odds of some mutual nakedness happening after this?” he asks, feeling daring enough to ask with Derek looking at him like that, mellow and satisfied. They've never been completely undressed together, and as much as Stiles loves what they've done up until now, he craves more contact, and right now he's not afraid to ask.

 

Derek sends him a slow smile and reaches for the door handle of the Jeep.

 

The pack goes apeshit the next morning when they find Stiles and Derek in bed, smelling exactly like you'd expect. Happy birthday to Stiles, indeed.

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to find me on Tumblr. :) ](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com/)


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